


The Walk

by moth2fic



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 06:45:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth2fic/pseuds/moth2fic
Summary: Vlad takes Donald for a walk





	

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of sequel to Partnership. This was inspired by another social media viral picture – you can see a version on my LJ scrapbook, again. http://moth2fic.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/5339/411474  
> The picture depicts Trump as a small child on a leading rein but my thoughts went instantly to the collar and leash idea I've expanded here. It follows from the previous ficlet and takes place in the same AU.

The time had come to step out of the closet they had made their own.

They had decided that simple, private bondage was not enough. Vlad loved having Don as a pet and wanted to show the world how well he could train and control him. The whole world, not just the members of the club. Don was proud and happy to be exhibited as a 'good dog', indeed as a 'very, very good dog' and when Vlad offered to buy him a special collar and lead for 'walkies' he was almost delirious with delight. At last everyone would see just how well behaved he could be. 

Privacy was no longer an issue. They were ready to face their public. 

Don strutted along the footpath, puffing out his chest. He was the cynosure of all eyes. There were crowds. He had never seen such crowds. He knew they stretched from the bandstand to the war memorial because he could see the people for himself. So, extrapolating from that, there must be hundreds and hundreds of people in the surrounding streets and parks. So very many people and all for him. More people than had ever turned out to watch a dogwalk before. 

He had a new name, too. Vlad had actually registered him with the Kennel Club as Trumpelstiltskin the First and sometimes affectionately called him Rumpy-pumpy. Life was good. 

He pulled slightly on the restraining leash but Vlad kept him steady. It felt much as it did in the bedroom, when Vlad urged him on or held him back, stroking both his body and his ego. He was hard at the thought and had to be careful to think of cool things like rivers and rain so that he was able to walk with a semblance of dignity. 

What else would chill him sufficiently? Stone, perhaps. He thought of the walls they intended to build. Firewalls to keep the prying media out. He liked publicity but it had to be the right kind. Newspaper criticism was not the right kind. 

His thoughts drifted back to the previous night, remembering the way Vlad had coaxed him to climax. No, that was not the way to stay cool. But if the newspaper journalists only knew they would write paeans of praise about them, panegyrics to their stamina, their sexual prowess, their ability to come and come again. 

However, the journalists did not know, and instead printed lies. Lies and false news about their brilliant plans. The Very Special Veterinarian Plan. The Greatest Ever National Parks And Lamp-posts Plan. The Wonderful Brick Wall Plan. All of these had been twisted and derided. Journalists were evil, the enemies of the people and of all right-thinking dogs. 

There was one now. A nasty, mean looking creature with a camera and a notebook. Lurking near a bench, trying to look as if he only wanted to sit down. And now he was stepping forward, even daring to speak.

“Have you anything to say about the latest employment figures?” 

“Nothing,” said Vlad. “And you should not be asking me these things.”

Don was absolutely amazed at his master's ability to make the journalist look stupid. 

“I'm exercising my freedom of speech,” said the man. 

A slight signal from Vlad, a flick of the leash, and Don knew just what to do. He lunged forward and bit the reporter on the fleshy part of his left calf. Only a warning bite. He didn't draw blood, just let the man know that next time...

“Freedom of speech does not mean freedom from response,” Vlad told him, and smiled evilly when the injured man tried to point out that that was usually the media's line, or the critic's. 

They left him behind, wailing about the bite, screeching about possible infection, and threatening to have Don put down. As if... 

Now what? They had got the better of a reporter and Don was figuratively champing at the bit. Perhaps another time they could consider a bit and harness. He lapsed into a reverie, a daydream in which Vlad rode him as if they were in a rodeo, while he bucked and kicked, unable to dislodge his rider and secretly delighting in submission. They could use that new riding crop. They could even slip a free advertisement for it into one or other of their public speeches. 

A cat flickered past, glimpsed out of the corner of his eye and he came back to the here and now. Of course. Despite his love for Vlad, there were still fresh fields to conquer. Now was the time to grab a pussy and shake it to death. He could deposit the corpse at his master's feet and if he was very very lucky, a very lucky dog indeed, there would be a plentiful reward later that night. Don wagged his tail eagerly and was sure he heard Vlad murmur, “Good boy.”


End file.
